


Berena Behind the Scenes

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, basically something to tide me over until november, just putting that out there, perhaps not everyone's cup of tea, started on a whim, this is total crack, to protect me from the pain of what we all know is coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: Crack!AU where characters in Holby City are played by themselves - and not all of them are happy about where the writers have been taking them. 
Catherine Russell and Jemma Redgrave don't exist; rather, Serena Campbell and Bernie Wolfe are acting out their own parts.
So what happens when the characters are waiting on their scripts? How do they react, now that Bernie's being sent on extended holiday while her onscreen alter-ego is "in the Ukraine"? Think The Truman Show meets Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - and see what the characters have to say for themselves.





	

SCENE:

[Office of Campbell and Wolfe, fictional consultants in the AAU of Holby General Hospital and real-life actors in the BBC's popular Holby City.]

[Serena Campbell is seated at her desk, awaiting her summons for the next scene.]

[The phone rings once, twice. She answers, knowing before she speaks that it is Bernie Wolfe on the line.]

Serena: The Ukraine? What are they playing at?

Bernie: Buck up Fraulein, we’ve known something’s been on the cards for months now, it’s Holby remember not Downtown Abbey.

Serena: But why the Ukraine, it’s a bit bloody random. Jac’s convinced it’s a ploy to stop us shagging every time we’re not staring down the camera but she’s a bit of a conspiracy nutter so take that as you will. Where’ve they put you? You’ better not have landed up in a four star without me.  
 Bernie: **snorts** Our production company? Are you mad? Cheap bastards won’t even splash out on a new wardrobe for you, they certainly didn’t spend any of their precious pounds flying me all the way to Eastern Europe. No, they’ve stashed me in some crumbling pile next to the M1 in the middle of nowhere. The bed looks like it came out of a WWI air raid shelter.

Serena: Pub?

Bernie: Passable, although you’d hate it darling, there isn’t a decent shiraz to be had and I’m not impressed with their selection of whiskey. Or lack thereof. I told Simon I’d be paralyzed with boredom by the end of the first week and do you know what he said?

Serena: That this was your punishment for grabbing my arse in every possible scene where we were supposed to be, as he put it, ‘slowly building a smouldering chemistry’?

Bernie: Ha! No he told me I should use the time to sit with my feet up and fill in the crosswords. Crosswords for Christ’s sake. Said I could use the uptick in vocabulary to help sell my upcoming scenes with Jason.

Serena: What, those two scenes where you’re sitting on my sofa with him watching Countdown during our nanosecond of domestic bliss?

Bernie: Nanosecond my arse. I’m looking forward to having you on a real mattress for once. Not that I don’t appreciate our office sessions but my back is killing me.

Serena: Amen to that. I’m still limping around after you slammed my ankle in the desk drawer.

 Bernie: I needed something to grab onto. You know how you like to thrash about. 

Serena: Well it’s playing hell with this whole Robbie reunion. They want me tarted up in heels and spanx and instead I’m stomping around in sensible shoes.

Bernie: Spanx?!! I am literally going to murder Simon when I see him. Oh and I nicked that hideous black and white polka-dot monstrosity they’ve got you billowing about in. My parting shot as they packed me off to the country.

Serena: Yes I know wardrobe gave me quite the earful. Thanks ever so much for that.

 Bernie: I’m going to burn it in effigy in the skip in back of the pub. 

Serena: Not that I’m ungrateful, but do you really want me strolling around the halls in only my bra and trousers? On second thought, don’t answer that.

Bernie: Not if that waster Robbie is back. When was that all decided? I certainly didn’t get the bloody memo.

 Serena: It was all fairly last minute. Apparently he’s been moping about and Guy of all people put in a good word. I think he’s a bit put out at the amount of screen time we’re getting. Wanted to stir things up.

Bernie: Jesus Christ what does he bloody expect? They’re not about to start showcasing his side action with Ric. He needs to eat what’s on his plate.

Serena: Steady on Major, you know how these things go. We’re all just one happy dysfunctional unit around here while we wait for the storyline scraps.

Bernie: They don’t pay me enough for this shit. You’re the only reason I extended. Signed on for more of this nonsense.

 Serena: Oooh I thought it was the posh trailer and the per episode rise.

Bernie: Nominal rise Fraulein and the trailer is purely a luxury so we can go at each other hammer and tongs and finally take all of our clothes off.

Serena: Mmmm, finally sex sans blouses, bras and knickers without the Chuckle Brothers banging at the door and giggling like a couple of spotty sixth formers.

Bernie: Ah the Dynamic Duo, nearly mowed me down after I was given my marching orders. They managed to rig up a couple of orderly trolleys by whacking the legs off and bunging the wheels back on. 

 Serena: I’m aware. We all are. Hallway surfing, they’re calling it.

Bernie: Hallway surfing my arse. More like an actual spinal cord injury story in the making.

Serena: They’re taking bets. I’ve got a fiver on Raf.

Bernie: Smart money’s on Fletcher smashing directly through the loading bay doors. I told him if he’s not careful he won’t need to bother with method acting on the therapy bars.

Serena: Oh it’s harmless enough and keeps them occupied and out of our office. But in other news I’ve solved the mystery of your missing knickers.

Bernie: If you mean those ridiculous ‘boy shorts’ you bought me and insisted I wear, the black ones with “A+ ASS” scrawled across the bum, I hope you found them at the bottom of a rubbish bin. I love you Serena but those things crawled. 

Serena: But Major you have such a smashing bottom.

Bernie: And one that is very much in need of your fingers grabbing hold.

 Serena: Steady. I’ve looked at the scripts. We’re in for a bit of wait I’m afraid.

Bernie: While I’m stuck here with sudoku and shite scotch. All right then, distract me. What was the conclusion to the mystery of the missing knickers? Not in the library with Miss Scarlett I’m guessing?

Serena: More like in theatre with Mr. Di Lucca. 

Bernie: You’re joking?

 Serena: Sadly, I am not. Seems as though young Raf was rifling through your desk, he says looking for the spare packet of cigarettes you keep tucked in the drawer….

Bernie: So he’s the one who’s been nicking my fags. The bloody cheek. When I get back I’ll send him to the Ukraine…..

Serena: …he found the cigarettes but also spotted the offending black pants. Draped over the lamp, you know the one on the cabinets. It’s rather my fault I suppose.

 Bernie: How is it your fault?

 Serena: Must have been where they landed after I chucked them, you know last Monday when we were, well, in the heat of the moment, as it were.

Bernie: Ah, during that bout of ‘raw, sweaty, unadulterated, vigorous, passion’ as you’re wont to say.

Serena: For the love of Christ will I ever live that line down? People have just gone into fits of delight over it. I swear it will haunt me to the grave.

 Bernie: I could etch it on your headstone if you’d like. A fitting epitaph. 

Serena: Fuck you Ms. Berenice Griselda Wolfe.

 Bernie: That can be arranged. Wait, last Monday? Last Monday night when I was knackered, after the eighteen extra takes di Lucca and I had to do of the maudlin scene by Fletcher’s bed where we’re talking about prayer and holy water and Fletch kept buggering things up by mumbling “Oi I could use some pizza mate,” and “how come it’s my turn to wear the bloody trach kit again”. That Monday?

Serena: The very one. I remember it well. You steamed in here with your hair on fire. If I recall you didn’t stop swearing until I had you bent over the desk with your face in the blotter. Your knickers were the first things to go.

Bernie: And Raf just found them now? That means they’ve been in frame ever since. Oh well done continuity department. 

Serena: Simon will have all their cocks in a sling but that worry is above our pay grade, love.

Bernie: Still, trust them to bollocks things up.

Serena: If you’d let me finish. Everyone was kicking around in Theatre One and Raf comes strolling in wearing your pants on his head.

Bernie: No!

 Serena: He did it on a wager. With Fletch of course. Ten to one this would be the tipping point that would finally make Henrik laugh. Jasmine, Mo and Dom had him down for at least a smile. Morven had two quid on a chuckle. Can’t remember where the rest of the crew came down. Except of course Jac and Guy abstained, stating we were all acting like children.

Bernie: Imagine, they were right about something.

Serena: I don’t know what was more hilarious, Raf wearing your knickers like a party hat or watching Jason totting up the statistical probability of possible Hannsen humour.

Bernie: He didn’t laugh?

Serena: Of course he didn’t laugh. Sometimes I think that man has had a charisma bypass.

Bernie: He was hired to loom Serena. I’ve heard he actually has a sousaphone.

Serena: Oh and we’re getting a horse.

Bernie: We’re getting a horse and I’m in the Ukraine. Bloody perfect.

Serena: Now whinging is strictly off limits my darling. At least you get to put your feet up, drink in hand and have a bit of a rest. While I’m stuck here reconnecting with Robbie and fending off advances.

Bernie: His face will be reconnecting with my fist if he so much as touches you between takes!

 Serena: Oh….

 Bernie: Don’t you…..

Serena:…big macho

Bernie:…go there….

Serena: ….army medic are we?  

Bernie: She went there. She fucking went there. That description. I have so come loathe it.

Serena: Turnabout is fair play. I’ll trade you for ‘raw, sweaty unadulterated, vigorous, etc. etc.’

Bernie: Oh it will be raw and sweaty and exceedingly vigorous when I get my hands on you next. 

Serena: A girl can but dream.

Bernie: Any plans to bunk off and get that beautiful body of yours into my lonely, and annoyingly lumpy bed? I could do with a decent shiraz as well.

 Serena: ‘Fraid not as much as I’m tempted. They’ve got me wrapped up in Robbie for at least the next two weeks. You’ll just have to exercise some of that good old army discipline and be patient.

Bernie: Ha. Patience. Never a virtue of mine really.

 Serena: Well study up then Major. I’ve got it on good authority that we’re quite the steamy reunion in the wings. 

Bernie: Steamy?! How steamy can it possibly be? We air weekly at eight for Christ’s sake. I’m lucky if I can get my hands under your smock.

Serena: In the meantime, I’ll keep the top of the desk warm for you.

Bernie: Sans Robbie.

Serena: Sans Robbie. Oh and send my shirt back you thieving minx. Production is threatening to take the price out of my pay packet so if you ever want me to do that thing you love so much again, you know the thing with your back against the filing cabinet and the strategic placement of the chair and the deployment of my fingers, the one you started calling Kandhar Style, you’ll get that back to Wardrobe in one piece. And without the stink of petrol all over it.

Bernie: Anything for you my love. And tell Raf I want my pants back. I think I’m going to parade them past Robbie when I return. A solid reminder of just who has the privilege of peeling them off of my bottom.

**Author's Note:**

> I am definitely writing more of this for me because at least I'm making myself laugh. If anyone is interested in reading more leave me notes or kudos and I'll upload.


End file.
